Dirty Past (12 page)

“Getting you out of the rest of your date.” I take my keys from my pocket and unlock the door to the Royal Room. “Get in.”

“By seducin’ me in a dark room?”

I laugh. “You wish, Casanova.” I flick the lights on and pull the door shut. “Didn’t you hear what I said to Sofie?”

“That Marc called?”

“Yes. He didn’t. Obviously. Sofie will tell her you had to take it and that you paid the bill, but you’re gonna be a while, so she should go.”

“And what happens when we go back in there pretty soon?”

“Then the call was done sooner than expected and you came for a post-call drink to talk with your assistants.” I nod and put my hands on my hips. With a pointed look, I add, “If she leaves her number, I’ll throw it in the trash.”

“God, that sentence sounds sexy coming from you.”

“The post-call drink?”

“No. The throwing her number in the trash.”

“I fail to understand how that is even remotely sexy.”

“I have three girls in my phone. My sister,” he holds up one finger, “Sofie,” another finger, “and you.” A third finger flicks up and he steps toward me. “And you talkin’ about throwin’ out a girl’s number . . .”

“You are very strange.” I quirk an eyebrow. “Are you just permanently horny?”

“Around you? Yes. It’s like a fuckin’ reflex.”

He’s standing in front of me now, and we’re almost toe-to-toe. He towers over me by several inches, his bulky, muscled form casting a shadow over my petite, slender body. I’m tiny in comparison to him, and even his head is bent forward so he can look at me. His hands are by his sides, fingers hooked in his belt loops casually, and his shirt is rumpled where it meets his jeans. And the bulge in his jeans catches my eye.

That’s a considerably sized bulge.

Very considerable.

I draw in a sharp breath, making my chest heave, and Tate brings his fingers to my chin. He tilts my head back so my eyes collide with his brightly burning ones.

“A very strong reflex.”

“Do you know anything about personal space?” Breathlessly, the words fall from my lips.

“Yes,” he murmurs, stepping into me. “I know that I fuckin’ love it when you’re in mine.”

“I mean other people’s.”

He slides his hand from my chin to the back of my head, twining his fingers into the hair at the base of my skull, and rests his other hand on my waist. “I respect personal space,” he whispers, every breath fluttering over my lips, making them red hot. “But yours looks empty, darlin’. It needs filling.”

“And you’re the perfect guy for the job, right?”

His lips crushing against mine answer my question. Tate pushes us back and I gasp as my back hits the wall. I grasp his shirt as if it’ll ground me, but I’m consumed by his tongue flicking against mine. He asks no permission. He’s not gentle. He’s rough and demanding.

His lips are harsh and desperate, his fingertips digging into me in a way that stings so bad it’s almost sweet, and his hard body against mine almost suffocates me, but that’s because I can feel all of him, from his tensed pecs to his hardened cock.

He’s against me, fully, entirely, every dip and bump of his body evident despite the clothing between us. And as his teeth graze across my bottom lip in a tantalizingly teasing way that makes me moan quietly into his mouth, I want that clothing gone.

I dip my hands beneath his shirt and trail them up his back. His grip gets tighter, his kiss gets firmer. His movements are almost possessive, but not in a bad way. They’re not selfish or careless. Every twitch of his fingers brings me pleasure. Every swipe of his tongue turns me on, too.

And I am. Turned on. I am turned. The. Hell. On. My breasts are aching, my nipples pebbling, and my clit is aching in a way I thought it forgot long ago. But it hasn’t, it remembers, and my muscles remember, and my pussy is clenching, my fingers are gripping, my lips are moving. His hands are caressing, his tongue is battling, his erection is growing.

There’s us—no doubts, no what-ifs, no maybes. There’s the kiss and the need and the want. There’s the actions and the gasps and the tiny moans and the desperation. There’s Tate and Ella, the two who don’t make sense, the two who shouldn’t do this but do anyway, on both accounts.

“You,” he growls into my ear. “What the fuck are you doin’ to me? All through that fuckin’ drink, you drove me crazy. I should have been thinkin’ how soon I could get her upstairs and fuck her. But, no, I was thinkin’ that she wasn’t you. That she didn’t look like you, think like you, talk like you. That she wasn’t fuckin’ Els. That I had to get back to you, to do this, to feel you, to taste you. I had to get back here to feel somethin’ fuckin’ real.”

The low, husky tone of his words sends shivers ricocheting through my body. One by one, my limbs shudder as the electric current runs rampant through my veins. “What took you so long?”

“Good fuckin’ question.” Tate silences me once more. His hands explore my body, and with no bruises, no pain, they can go wherever, touch wherever, feel wherever.

“Ella? Tate? I tried textin’ . . . Oh, fuck me!” The door slams suddenly with Sofie’s shout.

“Oops,” Tate murmurs against my mouth. “Now we’re in trouble.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I protest in a whisper. “You kissed me.”

“You responded,” he throws back, equally as quietly, lips curving into a cocky smirk.

“I was cornered.” I tap the wall on either side of me and push off it.

He grabs me into him, his hands sliding down to my ass, and presses his lips to my neck. They linger just below my ear, his breath cascading over my skin, and he whispers, “By the time we leave Georgia, you and I will know each other very, very well, darlin’.”

“So confident.”

“I could slide my hand inside your panties right now to prove me right, but I don’t need to, because you know I’m right,” he breathes harshly. “And feeling how wet you are, touching your undoubtedly perfect pussy, will only torture me more.”

“Tate . . .”

“Tell her we’re done before I shoot her,” he mutters, a slight growl infiltrating his tone. “But, Els, darlin’?” he pulls my face toward his. “We ain’t done here. We ain’t done until you’re beneath me, my cock buried deep inside you, and my name fallin’ from your lips. Got it?”

“Understood,” I say in a tiny voice.

I step back from him, but he reaches out and grabs my hand. “Did I . . . Did I hurt you? Just then?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Good.” He pushes my bangs from my forehead and rests his palm against my cheek for a moment. He turns and opens the door to Sofie. “Sof. Hi.”

“Hi indeed.” She glances around him at me. “I was just, er, comin’ to say that I got rid of Stacey, and that Conner’s holdin’ the table for us, and that y’all could come back now. But I don’t want to interrupt anythin’, so, you know. Come back when you feel ready to.”

“Ohhh, we’re ready.” I run my fingers through my hair and slide past Tate. “Well, I am, and that’s good enough for me.”

Tate grins, closing the door behind me. “You gonna lock it, darlin?”

I throw my keys at him over my shoulder and keep walking.

Tate

I catch her keys in the palm of my hand and my grin widens. Damn—she doesn’t look like she was pinned against a wall less than five minutes ago. Clearly I’m not kissin’ her fuckin’ hard enough.

I meant every damn word I said to her, though. Stacey who? Who the fuck was that chick I just wasted forty-five minutes with? She was never getting into my hotel room anyway, and that was before Ella sat across the restaurant with Sofie and consumed my every thought.

Because—fuck. This girl is killing me. And not in a good way. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d be inside her by the time we leave Atlanta. I will fuck her within days. I can’t not. I already broke all the working-for-me rules a million times by being incapable of not kissing her.

So, yeah, I’m gonna fuck her. I’m gonna kiss her and worship her body, and I’m gonna fuck her until she succumbs to overwhelming pressure.

I slide onto the chair next to Ella, grab her fork, and put some of her cake in my mouth. She gasps and snatches the fork back, nudging me with her elbow.

“Don’t you know a thing about women?” she snaps lightly. “Never, ever, ever,
ever
take their cake.”

I grab her wine.

“Or her wine!” she almost growls, taking the glass back and drinking it. “Understand?”

“I understand as clear as you do, darlin’.” I smirk and flag a waiter for a beer.

“I missed somethin’,” Conner says, looking between us.

Sofie rests her hand on his thigh. “Don’t worry, honey. Don’t worry.”

Ella coughs and hands the empty wine bottle to the waiter who brings my beer. He nods his head, then disappears back behind the bar.

“That was a very self-assured move.”

She cuts her eyes to me. “Bite me.”

“I’d love to.”

Her eyes narrow.

I laugh.

Conner sits back. “I definitely missed somethin’.”

“S
o. You and Ella.”

“Hi, Sofie. How are you, Sofie? How’s my Mimi?” I open my suite door, and she strolls in without a care. She dumps her purse on the chair and leans against the counter.

“So,” she repeats. “You and Ella.”

“Me and Ella, what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Tate Burke. I saw y’all last night. How you were kissin’, all passionate and shit. I wish I’d have just closed the door and walked out secretly.”

“Why didn’t you?” I shoot at her.

“Because I didn’t expect to find the makings of a porn movie!” she exclaims. “Y’all were all over each other. And hot damn, the temperature in that room was through the damn roof!”

“I don’t know, all right?” I drop onto the sofa and run my fingers through my hair. “She’s fuckin’ with me, Sof. She’s drivin’ me fucking insane. I don’t do this shit—all that kissin’ and bullshit. I fuck, plain and simple. But she makes me do . . . more.”

“More . . . how?” she walks toward me slowly and sits on the chair.

“I’m so damn conscious of not hurtin’ her like he did that I want to make her want me slowly. Like, I don’t wanna hurt her, Sof. Fuck.”

“Physically?”

“Never.”

“Emotionally?”

My words get caught in my throat.

“Tate Burke,” Sofie quietly gasps. “Are you falling for Ella?”

“I don’t fall. Falling would imply it’s an accident, and nothin’ about her is a fuckin’ accident.”

“So you like her.”

“You’ve met her, talked to her. She’s sweet as fuck. How can I not?”

“No, dumbass.” Sofie leans forward. “I mean . . . you . . . like her.”

“My dick gets hard whenever she walks in the room so, yeah, I guess.”

“Dammit, Tate!” She grabs the throw pillow from behind her and throws it at my head. “She ain’t a conquest or a goddamn one-night stand. She’s your assistant. She’s lost. She’s finally finding her feet in a world that’s brand-new to her. She ain’t the chick you throw away when you’re done. She’s cute as fuck, and I swear, you fuck her around, and I’m twistin’ your balls off.”

“Whoa, Sof. I never said a thing about fuckin’ her around. Didn’t you hear me? I don’t wanna hurt her. That’s why I know I should stay away, but every time she looks at me, she pulls me in. She’s irresistible.”

The door opens and Mila runs in. She launches herself at me. She lands on my lap and wraps her tiny arms around my neck. “Ahh, Tay. My miss my Tay.”

“I missed my Mimi. Where you been?”

“Talkin’ Dadda a bunna.” She sniffs. “My want bunna.”

Conner stares at me from the doorway.

“Ask Santa,” I say. “He might make an exception for Mimi.” I wink at my brother. I’ll talk to Mom and get this kid a goddamn rabbit.

“You tink?”

“I know.” I tickle her tummy and she flops back, giggling.

“Tay!” she shrieks. “Stop.”

“Okay, okay.” I flip her back up and lean back. Mila readjusts herself so she’s sitting front on, her legs on either side of my body. “Can Tay ask Mimi a question?”

“My lub keshtons!” She claps her hands. “Go, go!”

“All right.” I eye Sofie over Mila’s shoulders. “You think Tay should take El for dinner?”

“Date?”

“No, dinner.”

“Same thing, Tate,” Sofie sighs.

“Date!” Mila claps.

“Dinner.”

“Date!” she shouts.

I hold my hands up. “Okay, okay!”

“Tay a date!” she sings, scrambling down from my lap and running to Conner. “Dadda, Tay a date.”

“I heard.” Conner looks at me over her shoulder. “You sure this is a good idea, bro? I mean, she’s kinda fragile, and you don’t really date. . . .”

“It ain’t a date,” I protest. “It’s dinner.”

Sofie snorts, stands, and throws her purse over her shoulder. “Call it what you wanna call it, Tate, but when you ask that girl out for dinner, it’s a date.”

“Fuck off,” I growl, throwing a coaster at her. “Just book me a table somewhere, all right?”

Sofie grips the door and grins. “All right, Tate. All right.”

“She’s your assistant,” Conner reasons as Sofie leaves with Mila. “Tate, man, we all know about what happened to her. You think that, out of all of us, you’re the right choice?”

“One, you sleep with your assistant every night. And two, you don’t know a damn thing about her, Conner. So what’s your point?”

My brother stares at me. “All right, I got nothin’ on the first point,” he laughs. “But the second . . . You’re right, I guess, but, Jesus, Tate. Don’t be your usual asshole self, all right?”

“Cute. My baby brother is givin’ me dating advice.”

“Your baby brother is the only one in this family that’s ever had a girlfriend for longer than a cycle on a damn washing machine,” he snaps.

I laugh. “He also got her knocked up, so unless you’re advising me on condoms . . .” I nod toward the door.

“God, man. God, use condoms. I ain’t dealin’ with any mini-Tates like you. Thought gives me fuckin’ chills.” He shakes his head, then follows Sofie and Mila through the door.

It slams behind him, and I lean forward, bury my head in my hands, and wonder what the fucking hell I just did.